


All I ever wanted

by Menatiera



Series: BuckyNat Week 2018 [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BuckyNatWeek, F/M, Post CA:TWS, Reunion, buckynat week 2018, finding themselves and each other, mentioned/implied past traumas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menatiera/pseuds/Menatiera
Summary: "They could run more. They could escape. They have the chance and the agency and the skillset to decide one way or another.They stay."





	All I ever wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stars_inthe_sky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/gifts).



> For [stars-inthe-sky](https://stars-inthe-sky.tumblr.com/)'s prompt: "This man's gonna be my death / 'Cause he's all I ever wanted in my life"  
> 

She didn’t want to care.

After all she’s been through, she deserved a break. She looked Steve dead in the eye and declined his invitation to go after ‘Bucky’. She didn’t lie to him. (Not at that time and not now, if she’s creative with her interpretation of the wording.)

She really needed time to rebuild herself again, after all she had constructed plummeted down the drain, alongside with three deadly helicarriers. All her aliases, all her covers, all the personalities she had built – gone. She was a blank slate again. She could’ve been anyone. She could’ve disappeared forever – she knew she could. Not even Stark could find her again if that’s what she’s after.

It takes a few weeks to figure out what she wants, up and alone in the mountains, away from news stations, away from people, away from everything but her screaming thoughts.

And what she finds is definitely not the craving for solitude. Quite the opposite. She finds she really doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

She misses Clint and their easy time spent together, she misses Steve with his melancholy, she misses Stark with his wit, Banner with his shyness, Thor with his flowers of speech, Coulson with his precision…

Bust most of all she misses, as she’s always missed, him. Not the Winter Soldier, not the fellow comrade, not the perfect team they were together on missions. That was good, too, but… not what she remembers most vividly about the man. Not what she longs for.

It doesn’t take much, really. Two months after the fall of SHIELD, she starts her own investigation. She didn’t lie to Steve. She’s not looking for Bucky, either for the Winter Soldier.

She’s looking for Yasha.

***

He didn’t remember, at first.

He didn’t remember anything.

The words Steve said were enough to restart him, to override the killing order, but not enough to bring back… hell, he didn’t even know  _what_  he was missing. More like everything.

So he ran.

It was instinct, or maybe learned behavior, avoiding capture and interrogation and—

He needed time.

Getting away from the States was the hardest part, but after that, no one really paid attention to a lonely traveler. In Europe, most of the borders practically didn’t even exist, and if they did, they were easy to trick himself through. And while he went from city to city, from one country to another, he had time to think. He played puzzle with his memory pieces, trying to fit them into the right slots, trying to find the missing parts in the shadows of his mind.

The first one who resurfaced was Steve, of course, since he initiated the restart, but then… then. Then it was  _her._  And she was the only bright flicker of light among all of the hurt and betrayal and loss and loneliness.

Of course it freaked him out.

He ran harder, faster, farther.

Until he realizes it’s impossible to outrun bad memories, and he should switch tactics.

So he starts to look for her instead.

***

They’re meeting somewhere in the middle, in a tiny Scandinavian shelter. By now they both know the other was looking for them, and they both know it’s their decision. They could run more. They could escape. They have the chance and the agency and the skillset to decide one way or another.

They stay.

He feeds the flames in the fireplace, his back to the door when she enters, and he doesn’t dare to look yet.

Her steps are barely audible, but they are there as she goes to the table and sits down. He prepared two mugs of hot chocolate. One of them is dark, bitter, just like she prefers in his memories. The other one is sweet to the extent it’s almost sickening, and then it has some more marshmallows melting in it. He can’t remember how he liked once.

“Thoughtful,” she comments quietly, and a warm shiver runs through him as he hears her voice first after being so, so long time apart.

“Least I can do, I guess,” he shrugs, faking nonchalance, still training his eyes on the flames though he has nothing to do with it anymore.

He collects his courage and turns.

She’s just as beautiful as he remembers. Dark red curls around her face, her head tilted in a little curious angle, her expression is careful, not giving away her thoughts. She already took off the warm coat and it lays at the back of the chair.

She’s slightly different than in the memories, but he’s unable to pinpoint all the differences. She’s more mature, maybe, there are more shadows on her face and her eyes seem deeper than a well to drown in. But the bittersweet angle of her smile is the same, and the way her face softens when their eyes meet.

“You’re not here to kill me,” he says and he smiles at her, just a curve of his lips upward.

“No, not exactly,” she grins.

He sits down next to her and sips on his own hot chocolate. She finishes hers first.

“You let me find you,” she observes.

He shrugs. He still can’t find his words more often than not. The way his hand finds its way to her shoulder is more natural, and the way she leans into the touch is more reassuring than words.

***

The shelter has a sauna. The invitation is wordless but accepted.

They undress separately, not looking at each other, shyness creeping into places where once complete trust and acceptance were.

She hesitates when they’re in there, wrapped in towels they don’t need, then slowly lets it to the ground. It’s hard, and she hesitates, but she needs this, needs to be seen by him, needs to reclaim the trust they had. She needs to show herself at last, after so many years spent in hiding from everyone, from even the closest people in her life.

Even through the stream and the dim light she’s able to see the awe, the raw admiration in his eyes.

And the moment she’s brave enough to open up, he does the same, letting the towel fall without hesitance. He lifts his chin up in a defiant move and turns to show the scars she knows so well along with ones she has yet to see, given to him after her disappearance. His palm is curved into a fist, his feet planted firmly like he’s ready to fight, but he doesn’t flinch when she steps closer, and only shivers when her fingers trace the line of metal and skin meeting on his shoulder. He ducks his head and meets her eyes and she lets him see the same admiration in her face.

The tension sweeps out of them.

Touch by touch they rediscover the curves and shapes, the lines and scars.

He murmurs an apology when he finds the one on her belly, caused by his bullet, and she shushes him. She says sorry when her fingers brush his throat, remembering she nearly choked him to death, but he shakes his head to silence her. There’s no need of that.

They sit without words, let their hands talk instead, painting a story of acceptance and forgiveness on their skin, barely feeling the heat around them in comparison to the heat inside of them.

It’s him who’s courageous enough to kiss her first, just a fleeting touch of their lips together at first, but pushing them together firmly after. Quick, shallows kisses grow deeper and deeper as they go, licking at each other, tasting and discovering and enjoying all the new and yet familiar sensations, hands gripping tightly and bodies pressed together at least, in a curve that feels like home.

They’re breathless once they stop, panting for air.

“Will you stay with me?” he asks.

“If you ask me so,” she answers, and means it, and then kisses again, deep and passionate, her hands in his hair and on his face and not wanting to ever let go.

“Will you come with me?” she asks then, and he smiles.

“If you ask me so,” he says, and he means it as well.

The place doesn’t really matter, as long as they’re together.

**Author's Note:**

> Visit [my tumblr](http://menatiera.tumblr.com), if you feel like :)


End file.
